Put Me to Sleep
by ChibiKanakoNyu
Summary: After a 2-year separation, Sanji has to figure out how to handle a certain moody and stubborn green-head all over again. Will it really be that different...?


**Title: **Put Me To Sleep**  
Words: **1014**  
Pairing: **ZoSan**  
Rating: **T

**A/N:** Inspired by this picture: 25 . media . tumblr tumblr_lupv32Etl51qej81bo1_400 . png (Remove spaces, copy into browser and put a dot com between the two "tumblr"s to view.)

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The kitchen finally looked less like a whirlwind had passed through it. The dishes were all clean, dried up and neatly placed into their proper place, so Sanji could finally throw the soaking wet dishcloth onto the counter, and could move over to the long sofa to plop down on the cushions to catch a breather.

He hated to admit it even to himself, but the blood loss (for which he had his stay in _Okama Hell_ to thank) consumed quite a chunk of his energy, so he had to stop and sit down for a minute or two while preparing meals, or as much as doing the washing-up. Needless to say, it pissed him off to no end, so this time, he reached for his day-ending cigarette with more irritation than satisfaction from his job well-done.

Though just as Sanji stuck the filter into his mouth, the kitchen door was flung open, and stomps of boots continued to disrupt the silence in the room. And for Sanji, the green head and one-eyed scowl that emerged from outside were just more peace-robbing factors. He was in a bad mood as it was, though Zoro didn't look too gleeful, either. Then again, when didn't the damn Marimo look like a huge jar of sauerkraut?

"Cook, I want booze," the swordsman said with utmost and non-existing charm, his one steely eye on the blond.

"You know where it is, shithead. Get it yourself," Sanji growled in response, not even bothering to look at the man, and raised his hand tiredly to make shooing gestures with it.

To the chef's surprise, Zoro just emitted a grunt-like sound to that, and turned to walk to the Sunny's pantry, yet another door-slamming signaling that he had entered into the smaller space. Usually, the damn grasshead would have snarled something completely boorish and uncreative back as a retort, so the situation at hand was a tad bit weird.

Though, Sanji couldn't really tell if this was Zoro just being moody, or if he was somehow… different. After all, they all have changed during those two years, and though the blond tried not to pay attention to it, he could notice those changes in the green-hair. Like how he seemed to talk less but let stranger words leave his mouth. Like the difference in how he walked, how his eyes — pardon, eye — moved. Like how he seemed much colder… distant…

The pantry door creaked open again, snapping Sanji out of his musings. He was in fact so distracted by his thoughts that he even forgot to light up. The unlit smoke almost fell out of his mouth, however, when Zoro flung himself down right next to him on the sofa, an already half-empty bottle of booze clanking on the floor.

"What the hell—!" Sanji yelped and instinctively moved an inch back from the swordsman towards the edge of the furniture. "The fuck are you doing, asshole?"

"Sleepy," Zoro growled as if it was some kind of death threat, his one remaining eye all but staring at the blond.

"Then get your smelly ass to the bunk," the cook grit his teeth, chewing on his cigarette in irritation.

"Head hurts," Zoro said in a tone of voice as if that would explain everything. Well, at least it provided some context to why he seemed especially grumpy.

"Huh, have you forgotten how to speak in whole sentences? So what?" Sanji raised one curly eyebrow at him. "What do you want me to do about it? Warm you milk and carry you to be—eeey!"

Before Sanji could even finish that sentence, Zoro grabbed him by the waist and pulled him closer to himself, and judging by his hold, he was hell-bent on keeping him there.

"What the— Let me go, shitty Marimo!" The blond pushed against the green haired man's chest and simultaneously kicked him in his shin to make him release him from his grip. Though his struggle only resulted in Zoro's right hand clamping around the blond's nape, just before he put his forehead against Sanji's.

Blue eye met gray with first surprise, then irate fury. Sanji right then wasn't really in the mood for fighting, so he spent his last bit of self-control on trying to keep it cool.

"What the flying fuck is even wrong with you?" He squeezed the words out between his teeth.

Zoro didn't respond; not with words, at least. Sanji saw him blinking once, only to be faced with a look he had to take a few seconds to figure out how to handle. The mosshead didn't even have to say a word. The man's gaze was practically pleading, begging him to stay just where he was, and so were the two arms holding him in a painfully familiar way.

Sanji felt himself beaten by that look alone, which was slightly frustrating. Still, he ended up sighing big and chuckling defeatedly.

"Fine… Five minutes. After that you'll drag your ass to bed and let me do the same. Understood?"

Zoro just nodded to that, and Sanji wasn't sure if the swordsman realized that he was nuzzling to him in the process. But that small smile the green-head showed him made him thankful that that one eye of his fell closed soon after, since he was sure his cheeks were flushed red.

Sanji could hear Zoro's breathing slow down to a calm, even pace, and could see that the wrinkles of his forehead seemed to lessen considerably. The blond was torn between impatience and embarrassment, his still not lit and by then quite wrinkled cigarette swinging up and down between his lips as he kept chewing on it, with nothing better to do.

The marimo's lashes fluttered slightly as he drifted off to sleep, just like Sanji knew they would. The warmth of his skin, his fingers holding onto his clothes, the subtle twitches of his lips, even his scent, was exactly the same.

He was still Zoro. He was still his stupid Marimo.


End file.
